


Merry and Bright

by thatviciousvixen



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Christmas fic, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 20:17:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5599423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatviciousvixen/pseuds/thatviciousvixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're safe in France - safe enough that they can begin to establish themselves in their new home. What better way than with a Christmas party?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Merry and Bright

**Author's Note:**

> This was a pinch hit for the Hannigram Holiday Gift Exchange, Happy Holidays to varjokulkija!

“That stuff’s poisonous, you know.”

Hannibal’s hand paused somewhere near the crest of the entrance into the sitting room, a small smile gracing his lips. In his fingers he held a sprig of mistletoe, green leaves cascading from a red bow, delicate white berries tucked in among the stems. He glanced down at Will, standing at the base of the stepladder with a look of amusement warming his lovely features. 

“A parasite, too,” Will added with an arched eyebrow.

“Our life has been inundated with parasites, my darling Will,” Hannibal pointed out as he returned to hanging the decoration. “What’s one more, in the spirit of Christmas?”

Will laughed, offering Hannibal a hand as he stepped down. He found himself pulled into an embrace against which he put up no resistance. “This is so weird. I lived on my own for so long that I never saw the point in decorating for the holidays, so much of the stuff was dangerous for the dogs anyway. Now we’re supposed to be lying low and our house is lit up like a beacon.”

“I’m sure our guests tonight would find it more suspicious if we hadn’t decorated. Besides, the FBI and Interpol think we’re dead. It would be remiss to hide from all joy and celebration and prove them right.” Hannibal nuzzled into Will’s tangled curls, the smell of winter still sharp on him from his recent journey outside to retrieve a phone charger from his car. Slowly, like snow melting away and delicate buds of spring shooting up through the frost, he warmed within Hannibal’s arms.

“I suppose you’re right,” Will sighed before laughing, pulling away. “I need to shower and shave if I’m going to be ready on time, and I’m sure you still have a thousand things to do in the kitchen.”

“A thousand and one,” Hannibal corrected.

Will laughed again. “See? I’m going upstairs, I’ll try not to be too long.” Before he could leave he was once more tugged back, this time pulled into a sweet, affectionate kiss.

“Mistletoe. I’ll be up soon to lay out your clothes,” Hannibal said, kissing those unruly curls he’d forever been fond of. He made a small noise of loss as Will ducked out of his arms, heading for the stairs. Even in a pair of jeans and a ragged blue sweater than had seen much better days he was a vision. It was hard to keep his hands to himself.

“I can dress myself,” Will called as he was lost to the second floor. 

Hannibal shook his head as he folded up the step ladder, returning it to it’s place in the pantry. Will was right, he did have a staggering amount of work to do before guests started arriving. The duck that would serve as the centerpiece of the meal was currently roasting, filling the house with its rich aroma (he would normally serve something much more exotic to a crowd of peers, but Will was right - they _did_ have to lie low, and there hadn’t been time to hunt for the appropriate meat. The duck would serve well enough). He still needed to work on the glaze, a bowl of pomegranates and plums sitting ripe and ready on the counter for just that purpose. Once that was prepared he’d have to focus on sides, salads, desserts, drinks...and then there was preparing himself for the party, his own suit meticulously pressed and hung in his walk-in closet until he was ready for it. 

Careful fingers plucked a pomegranate from the bowl, the fruit ripe and firm in his hands. There was something so satisfying about them, the way the flesh parted to reveal the juicy fruit within. The seeds were ripe jewels to be scooped out, a firm hit from the back of the knife against the skin and the seeds loosened and fell into the bowl below. His mouth watered. He did not know if it was due to the fruit itself, or how much it looked like blood.

Paris had been good to them so far. Hannibal had found work easily at a local university, teaching an upper level course on philosophy and European literature. Truth be told he didn’t need to work; he’d been clever enough with his funds that he was able to access his money without trouble when they left the States. Still, it felt good to keep busy and gave them an air of normalcy so as not to raise any concerns in the community. 

Will...Will needed time to mentally recover. It was something they both agreed on. He would find his way in time, and until then fresh air and long wandering strolls about their new city were doing him a world of good. They were settled now, a family in spirit and in name - each had a carefully created identity they wore like a second skin, carrying the names in their daily lives as well as their official documents. Robert and Simon Petrauskas, that charming gay couple that lived in that beautifully renovated house just outside of Paris. As far as anyone was concerned Simon was a writer, spending his days roaming the city looking for inspiration and writing at night. 

And in no time at all the dust would settle and they could return to the monstrous creatures they were that night on the cliffside, covered in Francis Dolarhyde’s moon-blackened blood and clinging to each other in passion and pain.

The time he had to prepare slipped by without courtesy, but Hannibal managed to bathe and dress and set the table just in time for the first guests to arrive. It was to be a small gathering of a few of his work colleagues; mostly tenured professors, though he had invited a few particularly clever graduate students. The university president was expected to attend, as well as a local surgeon who had donated the newest wing of the school library. One by one they arrived with the usual reverence and awe awarded to Hannibal Lecter.

Will slipped up beside his husband as people chatted comfortable in the parlor, linking their arms together. “Is this everyone?” he asked, eyes sweeping the crowd. 

Hannibal turned his smile to Will, giving him an appreciative once-over. Will really had outdone himself, dressed in a double-breasted navy-blue suit. His hair was neatly trimmed and face clean shaven-for so long he’d worn a beard to hide the scar on his face, but it seemed he was comfortable enough to finally show his face to the world. It made him look years younger.

“It is,” Hannibal finally responded, freeing his arm to slip around Will’s waist. “You look lovely, my darling Will. It seems I’ll have to start trusting your style choices from now on.”

Will grinned, pressing a finger to Hannibal’s lips. “Simon,” he whispered with a grin, moving his fingers to replace them with a swift kiss. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to mingle.”

The party - as with all of Hannibal Lecter’s parties - was a success. The guests were properly awed by first their home and lovely decorations, then by the menu he’d planned and prepared and laid out with pinpoint precision. Even Will seemed to relax and enjoy himself more than he ever had in their former life. In Wolf Trap he wore his skin like an ill-fitting suit, always just the wrong size and never quite made for him. Now he seemed to revel in who he had become. He moved about the guests with an ease and charm Hannibal usually only got to enjoy when they were alone and bantering together, his words and manner smooth and casual as he turned about the room. Every now and then he’d throw a glance in Hannibal’s direction, as if he could feel the eyes on him from across the room.

By the end of the night everyone was eager to gather around “Simon” and wish him luck with his book, clamoring to clasp his hand and kiss his cheek goodbye. Hannibal watched with amusement as the last guest embraced him before letting herself be seen out.

“Well,” he said with amusement as Will shut and locked the door. “You seemed to enjoy that.”

Will hummed thoughtfully, walking over to wrap his arms around Hannibal’s neck. “No, not the party,” he said, leaning forward to brush their lips together. “I’ll never enjoy crowds. I think what I enjoy is being someone else, if only for a little while.”

Hannibal smiled warmly, winding his arms around Will’s slender waist and pulling him closer. “No, never someone else. Just another facet of yourself, one you’ve worked so carefully on for quite some time now.”

With a laugh Will pulled away, heading into the parlor to start straightening up. “Maybe that’s true. Who knows, maybe that’s the real Will and I just had to do some digging to find him. I’m not going to let myself lose sleep, no need for an existential crisis over this of all things.” He picked up a cocktail napkin, tossing it in the trash. “Was tonight satisfying?”

How carefully he chose his words. He didn’t ask if Hannibal had fun, if he enjoyed himself. He asked if the party went as Hannibal intended. That was the importance of their relationship, the understanding between them. “It was. We managed to get quite a bit of networking done, and started leaking our homemade history. It shouldn’t be long at all before most of the school believes in who we are and where we say we’re from.” He walked to the fire, stoking the coals to rake the last bit of heat from them before they went out entirely. “In no time we’ll be fully established and entrusted and we’ll be able to resume business as usual.”

“Business as usual,” Will said, laughing darkly. “You make it seem like entrepreneurship. Like a transaction.”

Hannibal glanced over, smirking. “Isn’t it?”

Before he could explain his thoughts any further Will walked over, silencing him with another kiss. “Not tonight,” he said softly. “Let’s not debate semantics tonight. It’s Christmas.”

“Christmas Eve,” Hannibal corrected. He couldn’t help himself. “You’re right though, these are discussions that can wait. After all, I haven’t given you your gift yet…”

Will turned, raising an eyebrow. “My gift?”

“Mhm,” Hannibal responded evasively. “Something upstairs.” He hanged the fire poker back on its hook, closing the mesh guard before heading for the stairs.

Will watched for a moment, raising an eyebrow before giving a short laugh and smirking. “Is it sex? Are you luring me upstairs for sex?”

“You’ll just have to come upstairs and find out,” Hannibal called over his shoulder, followed by the sound of their bedroom door opening.

The parlor was overly warm, even with the fire embers dying to a weak glow. Will grinned as he walked around and turned off the lights, one by one casting the first floor in darkness. Soon the only warmth came from the lights wrapped around the tree, and the glow that seeped in through the window from the decorations outside. It was starting to snow again; he could see flurries drifting to the ground, starting to blanket their lawn in white.

With a soft laugh he shook his head, following his husband upstairs.


End file.
